Fire and Ice
by Jacqueline Land
Summary: Good old Taito... Well, unrequited Yamachi, technically.


~Ice and fire. Fire and ice. The fire in my heart at the sight of you, the ice of my hands on a cool autumn night.~  
  
  
  
  
The wet brick he pressed his back to was cold, but Matt wasn't going to let that stop him from propping himself against it. He could smell the adrenaline-sweat on his body, mingling with the bitter tang of snow to come in the air around him. He could still vaguely hear the noise in the building, through the brick wall and steel doors. The sounds of equipment being checked before being put away, and the voices of band members and the groupies talking out front, hoping for a glimpse of the elusive lead singer of the Teenage Wolves, who always seemed to disappear when the show was over. The voices grated at him, the higher pitch and slightly louder tone of drunkenness twitching his nerves. Reaching into his shirt pocket, he took out a cigarette, the pack soggy from his sweat. He put the cigarette to his mouth and bent to light it, cupping hands around the lighter's flame to protect it from the wind.  
  
  
  
  
~The ice in your eyes when you look a me; cold, uncaring. The soft red glow of fire from the cigarette in my hand, its smoke drifting lazily up, up, only to fade and disappear like the stuff of dreams. Like the thoughts of an evening being blown to oblivion on the autumn wind. Fire that burns, yet still needs protection from the thing it fears most. The fragile protector.~  
  
  
  
  
He turned his face towards the chill wind, letting it push the sticky locks of hair from his forehead; feeling his face tighten with the dry cold. Taking a pull, Matt studied the cigarette before him, watching the smoke blur everything but the glowing cherry as he exhaled. Sometimes life was like that. Fog so thick you could only think of one small thing, and move forwards as if it were a beacon to a happier future. Light could be deceiving sometimes.  
  
  
  
  
~Dreams of you in my mind, in my heart, but never reaching your eyes. Dreams of a dew-soaked flower being battered by rain. A rain of tears from a child lost and alone.~  
  
  
  
  
Matt's brow creased slightly as the memories became forefront in his mind. It was long enough ago that he should have forgotten it already, moved on. And yet still it was there, taunting him yet no longer hurting him as it did back then.  
  
"Tai, I think I love you."  
  
"Matt?! I'm a guy."  
  
"I-I know. I just thought..."  
  
"I'm not gay, Matt."  
  
"But..."  
  
"No, you didn't think, not at all. That'll never happen, Matt."  
  
"Can we still be friends?"  
  
"...I don't know."  
  
He hadn't loved him though, he couldn't have, he was too young. But he thought he did, and that made the hurt the same. They had tried to be friends, but Matt still had thoughts that maybe Tai did feel the same way, and would try to catch Tai in his eyes, make Tai believe what he so wanted. The first while, Tai met his eyes with confusion, and increasing suspicion. Then he stopped calling. They stopped talking. And both had moved on, or so Matt thought.   
  
  
  
  
~The ember's light catches my eye, the afterimages of a red fire in the darkness leaving trails of fantasy in the air before me. A love? Or a hate? Or an apathy in the skin of both, or neither? A red demon of fire and lust and anger and dreams and smoke and ashes and nothing at all.~  
  
  
  
  
He held the cigarette away, flicking the ashes so they wouldn't get on his shirt. The night was dark, and as he dragged, he imagined the way his face must look, illuminated by the red glow of the cherry and the pale grey light of the cloud-soaked moon. He couldn't forget that look, but it didn't hurt him so much now since he had gotten over it. Or maybe he hadn't gotten over it, maybe he was just a little farther away from everything now. Come to think of it, everything did hurt a little less now. Must be the smoking. A crack of gravel made Matt look up, squinting through the darkness and smoke, ready with a quip reply for the fangirl who had found his retreat.  
  
"Matt?"  
  
  
  
  
~Your smooth voice, like silk on water,~  
  
  
  
  
The cynicism locked in his throat, but Matt swallowed it down, his collected "musician" facade slipping into place with the ease of well-used habit. The name came out with nary a tremor, for which Matt was proud, "Tai?"  
  
  
  
  
Tai came closer, taking in the lank, pale form in front of him. He looked first at the hair, once wet but slowly freezing in the chill night, then to the familiar globule gem at his neck, and finally to the glowing of the cigarette and back to his eyes. Ice blue and half closed, with unerringly calm detachment as they studied him over in much the same way, "Haven't seen you in a while..."  
  
  
  
  
~like a drape over a casket.~  
  
  
  
  
The silence went on for some time. Memories caressed the edges of his mind, like the smoke that curled from his mouth and nose as he spoke. "Guess you haven't."  
  
"How are things?"  
  
Matt pushed himself from the wall, his voice the same dead tone as before, "Why are you here?"  
  
  
  
  
~Your eyes; sometimes like pools of knowing brown, confusion yet understanding; and sometimes like the shit your head is so full of.~  
  
  
  
  
Tai blinked, slowly, still watching Matt with a look so like the one's in his memories. He glanced at the ground, a promo poster for the concert tonight lay half in a puddle, the water obscuring the picture of the band, the running ink making everything surreal and not totally there. He looked up again at Matt and his cigarette: The smoke gave off the same effect.  
  
"Those things can kill you."  
  
"So can a lot of things."  
  
"Why would you want to kill yourself?"  
  
  
  
  
~You gave me extremes, and I'd thank you for that, if it didn't make everything in between seem so unfulfilled. You gave me confusion, and I became addicted, still now even ever searching for something to contradict everything else. Day and night. Fear and security.~  
  
  
  
  
Answers came, but Matt gave voice to none of them, instead letting his glare turn a touch colder, but nothing more. "Why did you come here, Tai?"  
  
  
  
  
~Fire and ice.~  
  
  
  
  
He took a step forward, not remembering when it had ever been this hard to talk before. Tai let the silence go on until it became more than uncomfortable, "We were friends for a long time..."  
  
  
  
  
~A burning cold like the touch of winter. A freezing heat like a summer rain. The neutral touch of a wet glass: burning heat outside, freezing lemonade inside, and nothing but grey in between.~  
  
  
  
  
He threw the cigarette to the ground, hearing it sizzle against the wet asphalt. A long dormant hope flickered brightly for a moment, then slowed, sparks flying to the far corners of his mind as he crushed the butt under expensive sneakers, "We were."   
  
He looked agin at Tai, unconsciously searching his eyes for a glimmer of what he wished to see there, so long ago. Only finding something unreadable, foreign, alien. It unnerved him, this not understanding. Is that what Tai saw in his own eyes those years ago?  
  
  
  
  
~The grey of spring mist, a lover's sweat, and the smoke of ages. Curling and twisting into patterns unfamiliar, and comforting.~  
  
  
  
  
Tai watched the butt blankly, returning to his first thoughts only after the last glow had faded to nothingness. "Things got so busy after that, I didn't phone you." He scuffed his foot on the ground, the noise unusually loud in the quiet behind the building. The voices were dying down, only the occasional female laugh working it's way through the open, steaming windows. I did think about you, though."  
  
  
  
  
~Revelations made in a midnight dream. Mingling with clouds of reality, making lighting of fire and ice.~  
  
  
  
  
He made a non-committal grunt, but Matt's hope grew stronger, and he took a step forward as well, the smile inside not quite reaching his face or voice, not yet, "You still haven't said why you came here." Walls inside him were slowly lowered, making the night just as dark, but clearer. One hand stayed against the wall, feeling the texture of cool brick as if for the first time.  
  
  
  
  
~Igniting fields of emotions. Burning with overuse or freezing with no use at all, or both at the same time in flashes of frozen blue and burning brown.~  
  
  
  
  
More silence. Tai rubbed a hand through his hair, releasing a breath, taking another one, and releasing that, too. Finally, and grin cracked his face, "I'm getting married."  
  
  
  
  
~Dust to dust, ashes to ashes, and smoke to smoke. The pollution of a fire's burning and the steam of a glacier on a sunny day. Together making the mist that covers the consciousness of thought. A cigarette of dreams.~  
  
  
  
  
Walls were thrown back up, but shattered none-the-less: Bad planning and shoddy workmanship. But Matt stayed expressionless, years of practice allowing him to stay calm without, even while within he was berating himself for his false hope and gritting his teeth against the cruelty of his own stupidity; even while a stray movement made the moon catch something shine on Tai's left hand, something Matt hadn't noticed until now. The hand against the wall grew paler. "That's nice."  
  
  
  
  
~Fire and ice and ice and fire and burning nothing. Embodied in the dry cold of tobacco and heat of flame.~  
  
  
  
  
"You're not upset."  
  
"Should I be?"  
  
"I just thought."  
  
"Why did you come here?"  
  
"..."  
  
"..."  
  
"Will you come to the we-"  
  
"I'm busy."  
  
"Not now. It's on the-"  
  
"I'm busy a lot, lately."  
  
"..."  
  
"..."  
  
"Well then, I suppose..."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I'll see around then."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
  
  
  
~Addictive and dangerous, calming and secure. Infecting the mind with the smoke of apathy, spreading and covering in a rain-scented embrace.~  
  
  
  
  
As Tai turned the corner and disappeared, Matt slumped against the wall, hearing the cloth of his shirt snagging on the brick as he slid down to a sit. He willed his mind blank, as he had tried to do those years before, but the hurt wouldn't leave. His breathing slowed, and he hung his head, simply sitting there for a time while his ass grew wet and his back cold. Reaching into a pocket with shaking hands, he removed the package, still warm but not so wet.   
  
  
  
  
~These cigarettes are killing my body,~  
  
  
  
  
Sliding up the flap, he removed one and brought it to his lips; fumbling the lighter in cold fingers but managing to get it alight on the second try. Taking a long pull, he watched the cherry's glow brighten as he inhaled, and dim as the smoke surrounded it.  
  
  
  
  
~But it's you who killed my heart.~ 


End file.
